Unbecoming (34 page)

Simona smelled of hot skin and sweet cakes and that cleaning fluid they sprayed about the place. She said, ‘No one’s going to see us this time.’

‘I don’t care if they do.’

Simona laughed. ‘How about a roar of girls?’ And she gently pushed Katie against the closed door.

‘A brazen of girls?’ Katie whispered. Her eyes were adjusting to the dark. There was a tiny window way up high at the back of the stockroom and delicate light flickered in. ‘I can see you now,’ she said.

Simona smiled. ‘Me too. I can see you.’ She took Katie’s hand and brought it to her mouth. She kissed each finger. Katie watched her, mesmerized.

‘A goddess of girls?’ Katie said.

Simona laughed. ‘Lesson number four,’ she said. ‘And I warn you now you’ll be addicted for ever. Are you ready?’

Katie nodded.
Let it come
.

‘We’re the most beautiful people who ever lived,’ Simona whispered. ‘Did you know?’

‘Yes,’ Katie said.

‘Yes?’

Katie said it again. ‘Yes.’

Simona touched Katie’s belly. Up. Gently. Her fingers running over the ridges of Katie’s ribcage.

Katie dared to do the same, a mirror image. Through the crackle of Simona’s shirt, Katie’s fingers conjured pearls.

Simona gasped. A sound Katie had never heard before, so new it made her heart leap. She felt as if the moment was held in air, suspended.

She knew then that this was how it was supposed to be.

Here’s what happened, exactly how it went.

Three weeks after drawing the rainbow, Katie yelled, ‘Stop the car!’ and like someone in a movie, her mum slammed on the brakes. Also like someone in a movie – someone determined and very sure of her lines – Katie leaped from the car and ran across the street to Esme, who was walking arm in arm with her not-so-new boyfriend, Lukas. Katie skidded to a halt in front of them.

She said, ‘I’m not going to keep quiet about my side of the story any more.’

Esme looked horrified.

Katie said, ‘So, if you keep going around telling everyone I jumped you, then I’m going to come right out and give my version, you understand?’

Lukas put a protective arm round Esme. ‘You want to just leave my girlfriend alone? She’s had enough of you lot.’

But Katie wasn’t interested in talking to boys about their ownership of girls. She looked Esme right in the eye and said, ‘My version includes many salient details.’

Esme glanced nervously at Lukas. ‘Please make her go away.’

As if Lukas had any power about that.

Katie said, ‘You’ve been a bad friend to me, Esme.’ Then she
said, ‘And Amy’s dragging you down. Do yourself a favour and either educate her or stop hanging around with her.’

She’d been wanting to say that for a while.

Lukas pulled Esme closer. ‘Esme asked you to go away. Did you hear her?’

Esme rested her head on his shoulder as if it was all too much for her and for a moment they looked like an elderly couple. Katie could see their lives stretching ahead for years and years.

She blew Esme a kiss. Esme, of course, did not try and catch it. It blew into her face and away over her head and into the sky. But, hey – kisses are wasted on some people.

Katie got back in the car and told her mum to step on it and the two of them giggled – even Chris, who’d moaned about the day’s plans since Katie proposed them, deigned to smile. She could see him in the rear-view mirror.

‘It’ll be fun,’ she told him, turning round. ‘Trust me.’

‘I wanted to play football.’

‘When you could be spending the day with your three favourite women?’

He shook his head as if she was an idiot.

And now, as they drove out of Bisham, Katie imagined another story. One that hadn’t happened yet.

It was the one where Simona got her A level results (only a week to go) and did brilliantly and her attention turned to the future, to Manchester and her life away from this town. And Katie got her AS results and discovered that although maths wasn’t really her subject, she’d done fine, so perhaps these things had some genetic element after all. She’d stop fighting Mum over which A level to drop, and to keep her brain busy she’d keep all four subjects on.

And the story would keep going (as all stories do) and once term was in full swing and the trees were turning to autumn, Simona
would invite Katie to visit Manchester. They’d be on Skype when the invitation was issued (something they were going to do at least twice a week).

‘Get your mum to drive you to Cambridge,’ Simona would say, ‘then change at Ely and it’s straight here.’

Katie would blush (some things never change). ‘For the weekend?’

‘Of course for the weekend.’ (Simona never blushing, Simona smiling that devastating smile).

And so Katie would get on the train after school on a Friday and Simona would meet her at the station and they’d go to the student union, a place where no one knew Katie, a place crowded with strangers, with people Katie could only dream of knowing. But loads of them would know Simona and they’d give Katie admiring looks that held all sorts of possibilities.

And Simona would talk about a new world – about lectures and tutorials and her crazy social life – and Katie would recognize her all over again: her energy, her courage to be exactly herself, just like Mary. She’d remember how Simona was always fully charged and she’d wonder (as she’d wondered many times already) if she wanted to kiss her or
be
her.

And Simona would ask how life was back in North Bisham and Katie would shrug and tell her not much had changed.

‘School?’ Simona would say. ‘They treating you right?’

‘A long story,’ Katie would say, because it wasn’t going to be easy to dare to be herself. ‘Jamie’s talking to me again and I’m mates with his new girlfriend. He’s got a lovely girlfriend.’

Simona would smile. ‘
How
lovely?’

Katie would know she was being teased and try not to blush, but it would be hopeless.

‘Any ideas about uni yet?’ Simona would say.

But Katie wouldn’t want to relay the continuing battle about Cambridge (not all things could turn out well in imagined stories, or they wouldn’t be believable) – how it was still hard for Mum to let go of old patterns, to allow Katie to have autonomy over her own destiny. ‘I might take a gap year.’

‘And do what?’

‘Travel. I’ve never even been on a plane. There’s a whole world out there.’

What would happen at night? Where would Katie sleep? Didn’t students only have single beds? The story had many possible paths.

And maybe, at some point over the weekend, Katie would dare to ask if Simona was seeing anyone, and of course she would be – but no one special, she’d say.

And Katie would smile because Simona was leaving open a door and they both knew it.

‘If you come to uni here,’ Simona would say, ‘we could see more of each other. I’ll move into a shared house next year, so you could be the most radical fresher ever and live with a bunch of second years.’

Was she asking Katie to move in with her? Once again, the story twisted and turned …

Simona would, of course, be interested to hear about Mary, about how well she’d settled into the nursing home, how the staff all loved her and she was the biggest flirt in the place. ‘She’s got a boyfriend,’ Katie would say. ‘Some old bloke whose wife died years ago. She says Jack approves completely. Can you believe it?’

Simona would laugh and say she could believe anything about Mary. Anything at all.

They wouldn’t talk about Katie saying,
teach me
, and how embarrassing and how painful it had been. Or about Simona saying,
We’re
the most beautiful people who ever lived, did you know?
which was a line Katie would remember for ever. Or about the lessons and what number they’d got up to before Simona left. No – they’d forge new paths, navigate new territory. Because the world was various and unfolding and anything was possible.

Katie walked arm in arm with Mary, along the corridor. As they passed the dining room Mary gave a cheery wave to some other residents who were just sitting down to their lunch.

‘I’m off,’ she called. ‘They’re taking me home!’

Mum, walking ahead with Chris, turned round and gave Mary a stern look. ‘No,’ she said. ‘You’re not going home. We’re going to the beach.’

‘But it’s lunch time!’ Mary protested. ‘I’m going to miss pudding!’

‘We’ve got food with us,’ Mum said. ‘You won’t starve, don’t worry.’

‘Well, I hope you’ve got something I like. I hope you haven’t just brought rubbish.’

‘Definitely something you’ll like,’ Katie told her as they passed through the lobby and waved to the staff at the reception desk. ‘Mum’s gone to loads of trouble.’

But Mary wasn’t listening. She was pointing a finger across the car park. ‘Look,’ she whispered in awe. ‘How beautiful everything is.’

Katie looked. It was dazzling – the sea, the grey rolling clouds, the faraway stones on the beach shimmering.

‘I’ll just get the stuff out the car,’ Mum said. ‘Then let’s get down there before it rains.’

They made their way through the car park and across the road to the sea wall. The beach was almost empty. The few families braving it had their windbreaks up and were huddled into
deck-chairs
staring gloomily at the sea. A couple of children played in the shallows with fishing nets and buckets.

‘I love all this water,’ Mary said, as they made their way down the wooden steps. ‘It’s never far away.’

It was true. She could even see it from her bed. She’d only been at St Catherine’s a fortnight and Mum had already procured her a room with a view. She’d helped Mary recreate the memory wall too (including some previously hidden away photos) and hired a van to bring Jack’s G plan chair and the Welsh dresser from the old house. Mum was a much more thoughtful daughter now she didn’t have to live with Mary.

When they got to the sand, Katie flapped the blanket open and Chris put up the deckchair. Mum put the ice box down and took off her shoes.

Seeing Mum do that, Mary kicked her own shoes off. ‘I’m going to dip my toes in the sea,’ she said. ‘I haven’t done it for years and you’re not stopping me.’

Mum smiled. ‘You do it every day. You come down here with Charlie, your key worker.’

‘I do not. What rubbish you talk.’

Mum linked arms with Mary and they walked together down to the water’s edge. Chris and Katie wandered down behind them.

There were small blue mussels left stranded on the sand, scallop shells, lumpy black seaweed and the occasional dead crab, overripe, legs askew. Katie picked up two shells and handed one to Chris.

‘Here. Mother of pearl.’

He smiled, put it in his pocket. ‘I’ll give it to the baby.’

‘She won’t want it. You should get her a proper present.’

He nodded. ‘I’ll ask Dad.’

‘Have you emailed him? Is everything sorted?’

‘Next weekend for a sleepover.’ He gave her a look. ‘You should come.’

What would she talk about if she did?
Dad, I have something to tell you … Dad, there’s this girl … Dad, will you still love me if … ?
So many painful discussions ahead. ‘I miss him too,’ she said. ‘If I don’t come with you this time, it doesn’t mean I never will.’

‘Yes,’ Chris said. ‘I know.’

Across the water, clouds were brooding and there was the low rumble of thunder far away, but that wasn’t stopping Mary. She’d tucked her skirt in her knickers and was wading into the shallows. Mum held onto her arm, clearly convinced Mary would swim off if she let go.

Katie crouched down to untie her boots. Chris did the same with his trainers and they went to join them. They stood in the water, the four of them in a row.

‘Isn’t this lovely?’ Mary said. ‘So much water just for us.’

The sea was freezing, but it felt exactly right. The roar and rush of it, the tang of salt in the air, the tumble of foam.

Teenage Mary had walked to the beach near her father’s house every day. Trapped in a town that was too small for her, she’d gazed longingly at the horizon and imagined a future for herself. As the cold bit into Katie’s legs, she made a silent pledge to bring Mary here every time she visited and remind her of that teenage girl. And if Mary forgot how to walk (as one day she might), Katie would bring her in a wheelchair.

‘Look!’ Mary said. ‘Over there.’

She pointed to the place where the bay ended. Beyond it, the
coastline curved again, and again beyond that. A series of curves, stretching away.

‘See up there? On top of that cliff? That’s where Robert keeps his caravan.’

‘Ah, Robert Gibson,’ Mum said. ‘Whatever happened to him, I wonder?’

‘You know him?’ Mary looked pleased. ‘He’s a particular friend of mine.’ She smiled shyly as if entrusting Mum with a secret. ‘We lie together listening to the waves. Sometimes, when the tide’s in, it’s like a great storm and us all cosy inside.’

Mum patted her hand. ‘That sounds romantic.’

‘He’s got a wife.’ Mary said, still looking over at the cliff top as if Robert and his wife and a ghostly caravan might materialize.

‘Yes,’ Mum said. ‘I wonder how things would have worked out if he hadn’t?’

‘Oh, not much different,’ Mary said breezily. ‘I’m not a fan of marriage.’

Mum shook her head. ‘Well, at least you loved him. I’m glad you did. I find it comforting.’

Mary looked at her amazed. ‘I loved all of them. Every single one.’

Poor Mum – a father she never knew, an adoptive father who gave up on her and a string of ‘uncles’ after that. A mother who left her, and an adoptive mother who killed herself. Whenever Katie really considered what Mum had to put up with in her childhood, she was stunned that Mum managed to parent her and Chris with any warmth at all. She took Mum’s arm, linked her own through it and gave her a squeeze.

‘All right?’ Mum said. She leaned in and gave Katie a quick kiss on the side of her head. It felt awkward, but Katie appreciated it.

Chris scooped up a handful of water and threw it back into the
sea in an arc. There was no sun, just a vague glare, but it made a rainbow. A tiny perfect rainbow. He reached down to do it again.

‘I’ve decided,’ Mary said. ‘I don’t want to be buried. Burn me instead and scatter me over the sea. Right here would be fine.’

Mum nodded very seriously. ‘All right.’

Katie didn’t want to imagine it. But it would come. The day they carried Mary in an urn across the sand. They’d wade into the shallows to tip her into the water. She’d spread everywhere. She’d be washed up on the beach, swooped at by gulls, eaten by sharks. She’d sink to the bottom and lie there with all the treasure ships and mermaids. She’d wash away to Scandinavia and lap along the fjords to the mountains. Mary’s adventures would go on and on.

‘Right,’ Mum said, ‘let’s get some food down us. We’ve got a special treat for you, Mum, and I don’t want it raining before we get to it.’

‘Is it sandcastles?’ Mary said. ‘Because I haven’t got my bucket.’

Mum laughed. ‘I should’ve thought of that. Next time, we’ll bring one.’

Mary looked thrilled. ‘You will? And a spade?’

Mary was encouraged into the deckchair and Mum spread a shawl round her shoulders. The rest of them sat on the blanket. Paper plates were handed out, Tupperware dishes of jerk chicken, rice and peas, curried lamb and samosa were passed round. Katie had been cross-examined about Mary’s dietary preferences so Mum could pass details on to the care home, but she’d clearly made a mental note for herself.

‘You certainly have eclectic taste,’ Mum said. ‘Pat would have hated every bite. It would’ve been fish paste sandwiches followed by an apple if she’d had anything to do with it.’

‘Ahh,’ Mary said. ‘Poor Pat. She walked into the sea, you know,
weighed herself down with rocks. Never dared go in the water her entire life and then she finally took the plunge.’ She smiled sadly. ‘There’s a word for that, I expect.’

Sacrifice
might be the word, Katie thought. Or
fury
.

‘Let’s not get the ghosts out,’ Mum said. ‘We’re supposed to be having fun.’

‘Aren’t they already out?’ Mary asked, puzzled.

Because for her, the dead were everywhere. Pat had already been spotted preparing vegetables in the kitchen at the care home. Her father had been spied shuffling round the corridor in his overcoat. Jack was probably strolling along the beach this very moment, about to reach for a stone to skim across the waves.

It wasn’t just the dead Mary saw either, but the living in other phases of their lives. Time was fluid in Mary’s head. Mum might be a teenager, slamming doors at St Catherine’s and throwing Mary’s things about. But she could also be a sturdy girl with pigtails and ribbons, sitting contentedly in the garden, making daisy chains with four-year-old Katie – two little girls together.

As they ate their way through the picnic, the clouds darkened. Seabirds occasionally lifted from the water, unnerved, it seemed, by the swelling waves. The windbreak along the beach billowed and flapped.

‘Summer in England,’ Mum said with a wry smile.

Katie liked it. It felt as if the elements were pressing in on them. There was an absence of restraint.

‘We better get on with it,’ Mum said, collecting up the dirty plates and napkins. ‘Everybody ready for the
pièce de resistance
?’

They’d practised at home and each had their assigned role. Katie unpacked the glasses (borrowed from the café along with four long-handled spoons) and Chris opened the tub of fruit they’d prepared together earlier – strawberries, raspberries and crushed
pineapple (Mum had insisted on a particularly posh recipe). Mum clicked open the ice box, pulled out the tub of ice cream and cautiously peeled off the lid.

‘Not too bad,’ she said, ‘considering it’s been out of the freezer for nearly two hours.’

‘What is it?’ Mary asked.

Mum angled it so Mary could see. ‘Neapolitan.’

Mary laughed. ‘If you say so.’

Katie held the first glass out and Chris spooned fruit into the bottom. The glass was passed to Mum for a scoop of vanilla, to Katie for a dash of melba sauce and back to Chris for more fruit. Round it went until there was strawberry and chocolate ice cream, several layers of fruit and a squirt of spray cream (courtesy of Chris, who’d solemnly pledged not to squirt any in his mouth). Finally, it went to Katie for decoration. She had the best job and she’d had to fight Chris for it. She carefully manoeuvred a wafer down the side of the glass, drizzled melba sauce over the cream, shook sprinkles on top and lastly (and best of all), placed a fresh cherry in the centre.

‘Goodness,’ Mary said, as she accepted a tea towel across her knees, a spoon and the first complete sundae. ‘That’s the best knickerbocker glory I ever saw in my life.’

Mum laughed. ‘Let’s get three more together quick, before we get rained on.’

In honour of one of their favourite customers, ‘Mary’s knickerbocker glory’ was on the menu at the café now. Mary had been told twice, but Katie wasn’t sure it had sunk in. As she ate her way through her own sundae, she decided that tomorrow, when she was at the café, she’d take photos – of the boxes of cocktail umbrellas and wafers that were stored in the stock cupboard, of the chalkboard and the way Simona had taken such care over the
lettering – it was all curlicued and every colour of the rainbow. Next time Katie visited the care home, she’d bring Mary printouts for her wall.

‘That tide’s turning,’ Mum said. ‘I’d say that water’s definitely coming in now.’

Chris stood up to look, maybe expecting to see the ocean coming to a halt before shifting gear and changing direction. But all there was to see were a few waves lap-lapping up the sand. He sat down, clearly disappointed.

‘It’s freezing,’ he said. ‘Can we go?’

‘Soon,’ Mum said. ‘When we’ve all finished.’

It was definitely colder, although maybe that was something to do with the ice cream. The kids with the nets had gone and the family with the windbreak were packing up. Katie’s teeth chattered as she scraped syrup from the bottom of her glass.

Mary had saved her cherry until last, resting it on her knee while she savoured each mouthful of sundae. Now she’d finished, she popped the cherry in her mouth.

‘I know someone,’ Katie said, ‘who can fit five cherries in her mouth at once. She spits the stones across the garden.’

Mary turned to Katie, delighted. ‘I know her!’

Chris frowned. ‘Who are you talking about?’

‘Mary,’ Mum told him.

As if to prove it, Mary spat the cherry stone metres across the sand. ‘There was a tree,’ she said, ‘and a boy polishing his bike saddle.’

‘Norman,’ Katie said.

Mary clapped her hands. ‘That’s it. It starts with “N” and ends in “N” and it’s got six letters. I told him, if it’s Nelson, you can forget it!’

‘Forget what?’ Chris said.

‘Kissing!’ Katie and Mum said in unison.

Mary hooted with delight. Mum and Katie laughed with her. Even Chris joined in. It was wonderful, the sound of them all laughing.

Mum said, ‘It wasn’t funny when you got dragged up the path by your dad though. He made you scrub your face at the sink.’

‘That was because of the lipstick,’ Katie said. ‘You didn’t tell Norman you’d left the shape of a kiss on his face. And because he didn’t know it was there, he didn’t wipe it off. And that’s how you got caught.’

‘And the lipstick was your mother’s,’ Mum said, ‘which probably made it worse in your dad’s eyes. You found it in the wardrobe on the night of an air raid and kept it with you for good luck.’

Chris looked utterly bemused, but Mary gazed at Katie and Mum in amazement. ‘You two know a lot of things,’ she said. ‘I have to say, it’s absolutely magical sitting with you.’

‘It’s all in your memory book,’ Katie said. ‘You told me everything in the first place.’

‘Did I? Well, that doesn’t surprise me. I’ve always been very good with words.’

The sky had turned the colour of ink. Mary laughed as her skirt lifted in the breeze.

‘We should get going,’ Mum said. ‘It’s going to rain any minute.’